Exceptions
by Minus the Honey Bear
Summary: Growing up with James Potter gives a kid some serious issues. Why would Albus Potter, Head Boy, expect them to dissappear any time soon?
1. Beginnings

Albus Potter and I, Gwendolyn Lewis, would never get along. The minute I found out he was Head Boy I congratulated him. The minute he found out I was Head Girl, he went straight to McGonagall and complained. It was rather entertaining; especially when he realised that a whole bunch of students, were in the office. I still laugh at the memory now. He just, well, blushes. Our first conversation went like this, in our Head's common room. We have to share a room. He didn't like the idea.

"Okay, rule one. This is my side of the room," He pointed at a line of duct tape going straight down the exact center of the room, a small rectangle stopping around the door. That was the "sharing space" and were "people entered" he told me. "And you don't cross it and I don't go onto your side."

"Ever?" I asked him, amused. He didn't recognize the amusement in my voice though.

"Never."

"Okay, what's the exception?"

"…Exception…?" The word sounded foreign.

"Yes, there's always an exception to every rule." He stared at me like I was joking.

"Okay, say if there was a crazy axe murderer or a bunch of ravenous werewolves on your side of the room, I can't just yell instructions at you, especially if you're dead. So, I can't cross the line and drag your body outside the room before you get bloodied up too badly, so we can still make some ashes from you for your funeral. And if your brother comes back to prank you, and I wake up surprisingly just because his aurora is so magical, I could easily save you from humiliation—"

"OKAYOKAYOKAY! If there are werewolves, my older brother, or a murderer who is bloodthirsty, only _then_ can you cross The Line."

"Can I cross it when there's werewolves, your older brother _and_ a murderer who is bloodthirsty, or is that just out of the question?" He rubbed his eyes.

"_Yes_." He then stalked out of the dorm.

The next month went like this, him making up stupid rules and me always finding exceptions for them. His face just went red whenever "ex-" exited my mouth. By the end of the month, he had found 686 rules that I had to abide by, and he remembered them all, their numbers and everything--even the exceptions.

I wandered down to the Transfiguration classroom to hold detention. Apparently a bunch of students in Binns' class had received a month's detention. It was amusing, and I wanted to know what they had done. I walked in the door to hear:

"What are you wearing?"

"Pajamas, Potter. And I'm carrying ice cream. My hair is indeed up and you can stop gawking at my beauty, not that I mind, of course," I gave him a woofy grin and a sexy wink. He blushed and went back to reading a large history book. I sat down on one of the desks of the detention-ee. He was grinning up at me.

"So, what did you do to land your self in here?" I asked. Potter's voice, of course, interrupted.

"You can't talk to them!" He practically screamed. Not breaking eye contact from the very cute detention-ee, and already knowing the answer to the question, I asked,

"And just why not?"

"_Because it's against the rules_."

"No. Actually you don't _have _a rule for this…_yet_," I told him, finally looking at him.

"Well, fine then. No talking to anyone serving detention—'

"The exception being time-travels, people we fancy, or aliens," I continued on.

"Time travels? Aliens? _People we fancy_?"

"It could happen!" I told him, turning back to the boy. "So, did you plead innocent?" I asked. Potter opened his mouth, his face going completely red, but then he shut it and held his book firmly in front of his face for the rest of the night.

"Nope. I'm a bad, bad boy," He told me, leaning forwards. I nodded, and let out a loud laugh.

"I tried telling McGonagall that in third year, it didn't go over too well," I replied. He let out a loud laugh this time.

"Seriously?"

"Yep, the exact words. She told me she reminded me of student she once had…"

"Did she say which student?" He asked, flicking some stray hair out of his eyes.

"What? Are you scared of some competition?" I asked, a smirk coming to my face.

"No, of course not. Just, she told me that, too," He shrugged it off casually.

"I told her 'Yes, I am a sexy man who frequently escapse ministry officials. I'm just too bad'."

"You think bad boys are sexy, huh?"

"Sure, besides the fact that they're smart enough to escape from jail, they're actually pretty hot," I shrugged.

"Rule 23#," Potter extracted through his teeth. I couldn't help but snigger.

"Technically, I haven't slept with him, nor have I dated him and I haven't had a crush on him. He isn't my dad, or your brother and he isn't a character of a book," I told him, immediately and without a pause.

"Can I make a rule?" I asked him.

"No. Rule 687, you can make no rules—"

"On the exception that we fall madly and passionately in love then I get 10 rules with absolutely no exceptions unless I agree—" He snorted and said, "Done."

"If I knew you were gonna make it 10, I would of raised the number," I told him, trying to earn a reply from him.

"You could make it ten _thousand_ and it wouldn't make a difference—"

"What does that mean?" I asked, my arms crossing themselves.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"No, it means something? What? Do you have DTDOL or something?" I asked sarcastically.

"What's DTDOL?" He asked, rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's—argh, nevermind. Basically, it means you can't love, and therefore you make yourself unlovable. But…unless you're telling me that _I_ can't be loved—?"

"You're not my type, that's all."

"Oh, lookie here, Potter has a type. What's that? Incest and balls?" I asked him.

"No attitude, no daftness—"

"No humor, no sex before marriage. We get it. My grandma would by a prime candidate."

"Oh, and what's _your _"type", then?"

"Someone who understands you have to show the world love," I replied, quickly. He laughed at that reply.

"No guy will ever understand that. Good luck—"

"I don't need your luck, because in fact I've got a date tomorrow night," I told him, honestly. I was just gonna sneak out, shove some cookies into his mouth, but this seemed right at the time. Anger makes people do crazy things.

"Oh really? With who?" He asked, sarcastically. I saw curiosity and jealousy in his eyes. I smirked, and went over to the corner.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I don't believe you—"

"Just like I don't believe you. You are so jealous, Potter."

"I-I-I—"

"Want to make a new rule?" I sniggered. I could be mean. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to plan my outfit for tomorrow night." The door slammed after me. I heard a voice say, "Man, she's hot!" A voice replied, "Shut up! You're in detention."

I, Albus Severus Potter, just couldn't get Gwendolyn off of my mind. _So what_ if she _was _out on a date? _So what_ if she _kissed_ him? _So what if I was insanely jealous that I was pacing backwards and forwards across the floor making it squeak?_ I stopped pacing immediately.

"I don't care about her. She is stupid, she is gross, she is…so beautiful and funny and smart and—She hates me! She's out with _some other guy_! Not here with _me_! What kind of idiot leaves _me_? And now I'm talking to myself. Well that's just bloody great. Okay, Albus, on the count of three you shall magically stop talking to yourself. 1, 2, 3…Yes! It worked! Damn. Okay, it's Friday night. What to do? What to do? HOMEWORK! Oh, why doesn't someone just yell out eureka?! STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF! STOP IT NOW! NOW, I SAY NOW! DAMN YOU, I HATE YOU! I AM YOU! WHY AM I STILL TALKING TO MYSELF?! Because you're mentally unstable and everything. Okay, go to your happy place Albus, now," I shut my eyes, closing myself off from the red common room that I shared with Gwendolyn, the walls lined with bookcases, the wooden floor lined with red carpets, the fire place and comfy red chairs, and thought of my happy place.

My happy place consisted of my reading a book to Gwendolyn and she just laughed and smiled in my arms, not even playing attention to the book. In my happy place, she loved me, too. In my happy place she gazed at me because she wanted to, not because it was only polite. In my happy place she—I got pushed over and fell backwards over the coffee table. I looked up at my friends and scowled.

"Sorry, you were in your happy place, again," Scorp smirked at me. Max and Scott nodded their heads in agreement. I grumbled and stood up.

"So, where is fair lady Gwendolyn?"

"On a date," I muttered, crossing my arms and sitting down.

"Oh, Albus don't grumble like a child," Rose snapped at me.

"It's not my fault—" I stopped complaining with her glare. "Well, it isn't," I added under my breath.

"Albus, I overheard her friends talking. Why are you setting up all of these rules?" She sat down, laying a supportive hand on my knee.

"Because if I don't she'll find out what an idiot I am! If she finds my diary she'll think I'm some sort of stalker—"

"Which you are," Scott added.

"If she sees the presents I've bought her but haven't given to her, she'll think I'm in love with some other woman--"

"Which I hope you are," Max told me, glaring playfully. Max had always teased me about being in love with his second cousin.

"And if she finds out anything more about me she'll obviously hate me and will never want to talk to me again. It will hurt less if she hates the rules, than if she hates me," I finished.

"The boy has logic," Scorp told them.

"Of course he does, it's Al—" Max began.

"If you call me that, I'll punch you!" I snapped, stopping the nickname of 'Al'.

"C'mon, Big Al—" My fist collided with Scott's nose. I apologized and sat down again. Rose fixed his nose and gave me a glare. Changing the subject, we spent the remainder of the time talking about random stuff. At about midnight, Gwendolyn came in.

"Hey people. Wassup?" She asked, grinning. My heart beat twice as hard and sweat appeared on my hands. I gripped onto my shirt so I couldn't wipe a hand through my hair; it would, surely, give me away. "Goodnight," I said shortly, before standing up and leaving.

"Don't you want to know how my date went?" She asked, skipping in front of me. Merlin, she was too beautiful. I looked down at her gorgeous almond-shaped, chocolate brown eyes, and her beautiful heart-shaped face, her full lips, her cute, round nose, her high cheekbones, her long dirty blonde lashes that matched the colour of her wild layers.

"No," I managed to choke out quickly, before rushing past her. She stood in front of me, again, and tortured me more by listening to her soft, laughing bell-like voice recall her date with…_Timmy Hampton_. What the hell was up with his name? And how did he get off stealing hearts of innocent, unsuspecting girls and tearing them apart? And where did he think Gwendolyn was going to _touch_ him? I growled and threw myself onto my bed, and started punching my pillow, thinking it's his face.

"Jeez, if I didn't know any better I'd have to say you were a little bit angry. Don't worry, I'll find you a date. Nighty, night, Potter."

I could have told her I loved her, I could have told her I didn't need those dates, I could have told her what I wanted to do with her.

Instead, I punch my pillow.

Great, Albus.

Just great.


	2. Endings

The summer I had told my parents that I was Head Girl they were so happy and proud of me, because the general consensus of being Head Girl at Hogwarts is that it's supposed to bring some sort of power, right? Not entirely correct, though. Fifteen years out of the place, and I still hadn't gotten a job. I had moved around, working at muggle pubs and the likes, but my mum still was giving me those 'it's time you moved on with your life' speeches. I was a woman of thirty-two, single, unemployed when relating to a 'serious' line of work and still living with my flatmate from Hogwarts. Oh yeah, I was pretty sure that Camilla Worthington was going to grow up with her eight cats and marry a dog-person. On the nights that it was too much to have two hormonal women in a two-roomed apartment (one bathroom and one everything-else room) we got drunk and had long, philosophical talks about our lives. Needless to say, my life was sad.

"Gwen—"

"Ugghnn?" I shouted out from the bathroom. My lifestyle had taught me to be resourceful, to find a couple of ways to survive while living on three sickles a month. I had found a spell to wash teeth in one of my great-great-grandmother's books, the only downside is that it only works if you do one tooth at a time and it requires a lot of patience.

Cammy sighed and banged open the door, looking at me in a sort of agonising way. "After work, I'm going to go to that muggle bakery. Michael's taking me there!"

"Michael?" I asked, taking my wand out of my mouth.

"Michael from work?" I looked at her. She hadn't ever told me about a Michael. "You know, tall, strong, happy, geeky Michael?"

"Dog-lover?" I asked, cocking my head to one side. I received an enthusiastic nod in reply. Bingo! "Figures."

Following me out to the bench called Kitchen, she asked me a huge favour. "So, would you be able to take Jupiter for a check-up?" Jupiter was her cat-owl. She had cross-bred him ten years ago, but unfortunately he didn't sell quite well to the public. I suppose I could see why many didn't like the idea. His cat part yowled constantly through the day and his owl part hooted continuously throughout the night. He was good company, though. I rolled my eyes. Cammy didn't like braving the scary downtown pet shop in the hidden side-alley—the only place that would help her disastrous pet. Although I didn't want to do it, I nodded my head. My work started later now, since I had quit my muggle night-courses and could have a full-day of labour. I figured I might not waste my morning. She simply grinned, gave me directions and ran out of the door. Picking up the enraged quarter-kneazle, quarter-Siamese, quarter-barn and quarter-tawny, I made my way out of the door.

The alley affectionately named _Dinge Hole_ was, as usual, dirty and grim. Its grey bricks were still decaying and the black iron and cement gate exposing the vet was still there thankfully. It wasn't uncommon for shops to disappear in the middle of the night and never come back due to the Ministry doing their jobs properly for once. I walked into the place, still wondering how it could call itself sanitised and heard two happy voices conversing.

"Well, Mrs Jinks, while your pet is illegal to the U.K, I think it should be just fine." I hid behind a stack of pet collars. It was a general rule—unspoken perhaps, but nonetheless there—that no stranger intruded on pet-vet time.

"Thank you, Potter," The old woman's voice replied, shakily. I was shocked, and really wanted to see which Potter was behind the counter, but waited patiently. The iron gate clanged away and I stepped out of my hiding spot. Standing there, looking through some files on his last patient was Albus Potter. Still shocked, I just stood there, wondering what to do.

"Y'know, I was putting off going on my lunch break for you, but I won't if you just continue standing there." There was a smile on the man's face. He had just made a joke. Tiny Potter seeker had actually made a joke. He jested, he laughed, he was being comic. I couldn't help a tiny smile.

"Rule number 37, Potter," His head shot up, his eyes wide, wide open and his mouth hung open in shock. "I am not to approach you without your knowledge in any way that could be shocking to either party."

"I," He faltered, "I don't think those rules really apply now." I smiled at him, taking him in now. He had grown up, obviously emotionally after witnessing his 180 degree social change, and I also noticed his glasses were thicker, square and black compared to the thin wire his ancestors were famous for wearing. He was still very gangly, but he had many scratches on his arms now. I stepped closer to him, placing Jupiter on the bench in front of him.

"I'm glad," I smiled at him. When he had originally became Head Boy, I thought he would have overcome his stupid Gryffindor/Hufflepuff prejudice and try to get to know me—in fact, after having a crush on him in fourth year, I was looking forward to knowing the real Albus Potter. His rules had only distanced him and by the end of the year, it was pretty much like I didn't exist. "Well," I changed the subject, "this here is Jupiter. Its sex is unknown, it's illegal in all seven continents and lately smells have been coming from somewhere here." I took out my wand and circled a portion of furry feathers behind its right ear. "I think it might be some sort of stress problem related to the kneazle's Smellenious disease, but seeing as it's a cross-bread I have no idea what it could possibly be, especially since that disease is normally on the inside of the feline."

"You're a vet, too?" He asked, taking a look at the problem area. I knew he must have been smart; keeping this illegal vet secret meant having to use no magic to cure magic problems, as well as keeping it out of the public eye and any delicate situations that might occur by dealing with illegal specimens. I shot down the idea of being observant, though.

"Kind of a stupid question, don't you think?" I giggled. He looked momentarily enraged, so I quickly backtracked. "I had been taking some muggle biology and chemistry courses—night classes, in fact—and one of the girls there was a witch too, her dad works at the vet in Diagon Alley, anyway I didn't learn a lot because I had to quit them before anything could really become of it."

"Why?" He looked puzzled now. One thing that hadn't changed about Albus Potter was that his emotions were still easy to read, but hard to understand.

"To take the courses, you need to pay for them..." There was a momentary awkward silence. I suppose admitting to him that I wasn't the most successful or richest person wasn't the best idea. _Yeah, Gwen, just another thing Potter will scorn you about,_ I thought hesitantly.

"I—well—" Potter stuttered after a few uncomfortable moments. "I still mooch off of my parents!" He blurted out. Wow, talk about a personality readjustment. "But, I guess that's not important because I run my own business and-and—" And there was the snobby, stuck-up, closed-off teenage boy from my seventh year. Good times, good times.

"So, how is it that you cure them?" I asked, glancing around. I was actually pretty curious about it, seeing as dead animals and string omens hung from the ceiling but there was nothing magical in sight. "The animals, without magic," I clarified after a second.

"Uh, it's a difficult process, filled with undetectable charms and potions and hexes and it changes from case to case," He stuttered, stuffing Jupiter into a cage underneath the bench.

"You hex the animals?" I asked, shocked.

"No—what—no! No! Never, of course not! Who-who said anything about hexing them?" He laughed nervously. I raised an eyebrow but was relieved animal cruelty wasn't on his list of traits. "Let's get started then." Potter buried his face in the cage and used his wand to poke at Jupiter. Jupiter let out a pro-oot, as Cammy and I called his half-prowl half-hoots, before huffing and a fizzling noise loudly sprouted from his behind.

"Oh!" I screeched. Potter jumped back as well as the cat-owl began to sizzle and cry out in pain.

"Get back!" Potter ran around the bench and threw his body on top of mine as we heard one last, long hoot before there was a pang of odour and feathers flew everywhere. A few seconds later, I peeled open my eyes and saw over Potter's shoulder that the cage, where a previously old and frail cat-owl sat, there was a pristine white kitten with tawny wings like a hawk sprouting from the back and huge predator talons dipping from the soft pads decorated by silver shimmering booties. Then, the green mist seemed to waft over to us and I could honestly say that I had never smelt anything so bad, and we lived over a muggle garbage treatment yard. Looking up, Potter smelt it too. We ran from the shop leaving Jupiter for dead and tried to air out our nostrils. "Bloody awful," Potter moaned.

"I'll say," I huffed. There was a pause where Potter leant over the iron fence and breathed in a cloud of old man's pipe smoke. He began to cough and turn green in the face and I tried not to laugh as he settled down. He had a coating of the green mist, still horrible, stuck to his back and his cheek while I had come off with nothing but some goo caught to my shoes. "Come here," I fought a smile. I lifted a hand and started whipping the shimmering green from his face. He froze under my touch and I tried not to smirk as I imagined the position we were in.

"T-t-thanks," He blushed. I let my smile go at that.

"Did you ever imagine this?" I asked.

"Us?" He balked, "Well, er, yes." I pulled back at that.

"Really?"

"Er, yeah, I've been in love with you since you offered me your quill in second year," His face was bright red and his eyes scrunched up like he wanted to rid himself of the nightmare that was this moment.

"Really?"

"Er, no, course not really…" He laughed, eyes peered open to see whether I had bought it or not. I hadn't.

"For me it was fourth year, when you dive-rolled to save that bird from the Slytherins," I retorted. He froze again under my gaze and looked at me like he couldn't believe it.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," I giggled, nodding my head. Who knew that all this time it had been just teenage awkwardness? "But I wasn't asking that," I continued, "I meant that, you know, in seventh year you seemed like you didn't like me and we were both heads and had the world at our feet and now we're cowering outside an illegal and admittedly disgusting vet earning less than minimal wage while my flatmate's illegal who-knows-what goes psycho inside and we're stuck out here, cowering and cleaning each other off. Did you ever imagine it like this?"

"Down to the very last detail," He beamed down at me. I had to laugh. Before I knew it, his lips were on mine and I froze, gooey fingers raised in the air, with my eyes still wide open. Potter then pulled back. "I'm sorry, it just, you know, seemed like the time so I went for it. I'm so sorry." I slid my messy hands into his even worse off hair and pulled him down to me so I could reach up and kiss him normally instead of getting his throat. His hand slid around my waist and I pressed myself into him as we continued to kiss. There was a second where Potter faulted and spun me around almost in a dip which ended up with me getting prodded in the back with the gate again. I pulled back laughing. Sure, life sucked and school was just the start of it but sometimes when you're thousands in debt and running errands so your animal testing roommate can fall in love with some muggle rock star you can find yourself snogging your school rival outside his illegal pet shop covering in god know what and starting to burst out in a rash.

The summer I had told my parents I was Head Boy things changed. Suddenly I became more of a target with my siblings, Lily doubted I would be a nice big brother anymore and suddenly my parents thought I would be their golden child and become the minister or something. Then, I heard that Gwendolyn Lewis had ended up giving her virginity to Timmy Hampton the night before exams and, well, I hadn't faired so well. I had lost my ministry entrance, everyone abruptly became very disappointed in me even if they hadn't spoken to me a day in their life before now, and I ended up roaming the streets unemployed completely miserable with nothing but the hollowing disappointment that I ruined my life to keep me company. I still lived with my parents, however pathetic that sounded. The only vague highlight was curing a few illegal animals a couple of alleys over from Knockturn out of the back of an abandoned shop. Soon that turned into a legitimate business and, although I denied that I had any sort of income to keep my Head of Defence father off my back, it was pretty much the only good thing in my life. And then, she had entered again.

Gwendolyn Lewis, probably Gwendolyn Hampton by now, had brought in a pretty amazing specimen that smelt rank. Instead of curing it, we ended up in St Mungos with life-altering rashes, my father arrested me, I lost my shop and Gwendolyn was held in an isolated disease control room for six months. It was pretty shocking, however, when Gwendolyn turned up at my Azkaban prison and told me that she had, with her roommate's husband's payout, bought a licence and the shop and was now homeless, but did I want my business back and would I mind if she moved in? Of course I let her happily into my life as business partner and flatmate. We opened Potter Lewis's, the first legal shop down Dinge Hole Alley, which quickly—by that, I mean in the space of a decade—became the most well-known vet and pet shop in England. Of course we had a back room for those more discrete patients but nothing my father would ever find out about. That prison visit was the very best of my life. Beforehand, when I was sure I would end up dead from some illegal disease in some gutter alone, I had cursed my misfortune but since the Summer Solstice of my thirty fifth birthday, I had my wonderful wife and half-witch half-cat-owl-falcon-mystery daughter to be thankful for. Sure, life may break you, crap on your soul and destroy any sort of happiness you might possibly have but it always—_always —_gives you a few exceptions.


End file.
